


Invictus

by Nepenthene



Series: Carry On [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, But he’s got his emotional support pupper to help him out so there’s that, But they're awesome and super solid, Canon Rewrite, Castiel and Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Feelings Realization, Grieving Dean Winchester, He's under a lot of stress okay, Introspection, It takes Dean like almost a whole week to fully process the I love you, Jack Kline is a Winchester, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, The boy is very emotionally stunted, You all know this, all the homo, also he swears a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28135644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nepenthene/pseuds/Nepenthene
Summary: **MAJOR SEASON 15 SPOILERS**They saved the world. They're free. It's done.Except it's not, and carrying on is the last thing any of them are thinking about.They still have someone they need to save.(Canon re-write picking up near the end of 15x19)
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: Carry On [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074260
Comments: 96
Kudos: 164





	1. hoax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _My only one  
>  My smoking gun  
> My eclipsed sun  
> This has broken me down_

It’s done in the blink of an eye.

One moment, Sam and Dean are standing next to each other in an empty street, in a ghost town, in a world utterly devoid of life except for their adopted son, God, and the pitiful excuse for a newly-made human whose ass they just beat and left grovelling in the dust behind them.

And then they’re not.

The people, _all_ the people — they’re back. Somewhere, Dean hears a snatch of birdsong. Across the street, someone is laughing.

He and Sam look at each other, and Sam lets out a shocked little laugh. “We... we _did_ it,” he says, like he almost doesn’t believe it. “We did it, Dean.”

Dean pulls him in for a hug and slaps him on the back, suddenly grinning like a fool. “Yeah. We did, didn’t we?”

They break apart, drinking in all the life around them with wide eyes. Dean catches Jack’s attention and smiles, pride swelling in his chest for everything his— his _kid_ has done. Done for them, done for the _world_. He brought everyone back.

But then his heart lurches. 

Everyone. _Everyone’s_ back.

_Cas._

The smile slides off his face as he looks around, hopefully at first and then with growing desperation when there’s still no flash of black and tan, no _whoosh_ of displaced air and a whiskey-and-cigarettes voice saying his name.

He mouths tightly along to the urgent litany that starts up in his head without quite realizing he’s doing it, his jaw clenched, his head darting back and forth. _Please let him be back, please, c’mon,_ c’mon—

“Dean,” Jack says softly, his voice heavy.

And no, that’s— _no._ But Jack’s face says it all. Dean balls his hands into fists, stubbornly shaking his head. Sam’s hand comes up to grip his shoulder; he means it to be comforting, Dean knows he does, but it’s too tight, and it’s his left shoulder, _fuck,_ and— 

Dean shakes it off. “No, Jack, you— you’ve _gotta_ bring him back. You _have_ to.”

Jack’s face crumples a little more. “Dean... I can’t. I can’t keep doing what Chuck did. It has to stop, and it has to stop here. No exceptions. Not for me, and not even for Cast—” 

He stumbles over the name before it makes it all the way out. Then he swallows, like he’s trying not to cry. “Not even for my dad.”

No, this is _wrong,_ this can’t— this wasn’t how it was supposed to end. They were gonna save the world, and then Cas was gonna come _back._

Jack sniffs quietly. Dean just keeps shaking his head. 

No. _No._

He strides forward, grabbing Jack’s shoulders and forcing him to look into his eyes. “I don’t believe it,” he says vehemently, ignoring the tremble in his voice. “There’s gotta be a way. There’s _always_ a way, there must be _something_ you can do.”

Jack opens his mouth, then stops. Closes it again. Looks at Dean steadily. 

It’s Amara looking back at him as much as it is Jack.

“How much do you want him back?”

Dean freezes, the words hitting him like a gut punch. He bites back another wave of the tears that’ve been one wrong thought, one wrong word from spilling out ever since Cas got himself taken away, and he _remembers._

Remembers the fog of shock that descended on him after it happened, so thick and all-encompassing that when he’d finally gone to meet Sam and Jack he’d barely noticed that there weren’t any other cars on the road, any other people at all. Remembers trying to drink away the memory of Cas’ horrifyingly beatific face being consumed by black ooze. (It didn’t work.) Remembers the blind surge of hope that had torn through him when he heard Cas’ voice on his phone, sending him charging up the stairs to let Lucifer in like the most naïve, gullible motherfucker on the planet. And he remembers how when he and Sam had offered the Cain and Abel deal, he hadn’t hesitated for a _second_ before placing one stupid angel with terrible taste and a self-sacrificial streak big enough to rival Dean’s own on equal footing with _every other living thing in the world._

“More than anything,” he whispers. 

“Then go get him.”

Dean lets out a helpless, wounded sound. He’s not sure anymore whether he’s holding onto Jack to get him to listen or to keep from falling to his knees. 

“How? How am I supposed to do that?” He pleads brokenly. ”There’s nothing I have that the Empty wants. There’s no deal, there’s no spell, there’s… there’s _nothing_ I can do.”

But before Jack can respond, there are several things that happen simultaneously.

One: both Sam’s and Dean’s phones start ringing. Their friends calling, probably, to figure out what the hell just happened.

Two: there’s a split-second _feeling._ A strange, dimensional shift, kind of like your ears popping in response to an unexpected change in altitude, but with what feels like every single molecule in Dean’s body. Sam makes an odd noise behind him, so Dean knows it’s not just him, either.

Three, and by far the most worrying: Jack passes out.

He sags in Dean’s grip like a marionette with its strings cut, his eyes rolling back in his head, and Dean almost drops him in surprise. “Jack!” he shouts, and Sam rushes to his side to help hold the kid up.

“Jack, what’s wrong? What happened?” Sam asks, his voice tight with concern as Jack’s eyes flutter back open and he works on getting his legs under him again, thank— whoever. Dean’s too freaked the fuck out say anything.

“I have to go, _now,”_ Jack croaks urgently, brushing Sam and Dean off with shaky hands. “I’ll meet you back at the Bunker. _Go.”_

And then he’s gone.

They run for the car without another word.

— - —

Dean sighs, running a hand over his eyes. “Yeah, you’ll know as soon as we do. Yeah. Okay, Jody. Bye.”

He sits back in the chair, hanging up his phone and tapping it restlessly against his thigh. It’s been a little over two hours since Jack up and disappeared; they haven’t seen or heard anything from him since, and the longer he’s gone, the worse Dean feels like things probably are. Sam should be on his way back by now, though. And since Dean doesn’t have a damn thing else to do...

Sam picks up on the second ring. “Hey, Dean. Is Jack there?”

“No, not yet. I just finished talking to Jody, so that’s everyone caught up. How’s Eileen?”

Sam’s relief is obvious in his voice, and Dean’s heart gives a dark, jealous twinge that he stifles as soon as he feels it. “She’s fine. She took us up on the offer, by the way, she’s right here.” 

“That’s great, man. It’ll be good to see her.” Dean tries to sound relieved and happy, and he is; but it still comes out sounding a little canned, a little flat. Just enough to be noticeable. He grimaces. 

Sam’s quiet for a minute, his breath crackling through the speaker. Miracle lays his head on Dean’s knee and looks up at Dean with big, sad eyes.

“We’re gonna get him back. This isn’t the end.”

Dean gives the dog’s shaggy ears a scratch. He’d been sitting in the back of the Impala when they’d jumped in earlier, exactly where he’d been before Chuck snapped him away. He’s been shadowing Dean ever since they got back to the Bunker.

It’s kinda funny, actually. Dean’s never really been much of a dog person. That was always Sam’s thing.

“Sure, Sammy,” he says. He can hear how worn-out and thin he sounds, how fragile. Like he’s got no hope. Like… like he’s already given up.

Which makes sense. He doesn’t, really. And even though he’s still hanging on, he pretty much has.

Sam’s concern is almost tangible in the silence that follows. “We’ll be back in half an hour, okay? I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah, see you.”

“Bye, Dean.”

Dean hangs up without responding.

— - —

It’s two in the morning when Jack finally walks through the door. Dean’s on his feet as soon as the door opens, Sam’s half a second behind him, and Eileen brings up the rear. 

_Finally._ The wait has been hell. Sam and Eileen did their best to try and distract him— they made dinner, got Dean to tell them how everyone was. He appreciates the effort.

It didn’t do much, though. Dean didn’t expect it to. 

He’d had to tell everyone what happened to Cas, for fuck’s sake. He’d had to tell _Claire._ Grilled cheese and tomato soup isn’t gonna fix that.

He meets Jack at the bottom of the stairs and pulls him into a hug before he can say anything. His kid might be God, but hell if he’s gonna let him keep thinking Dean doesn’t care about him. The things he’s said over the past few weeks, the past few months…

“Hello, Dean,” Jack says, his shoulders slumping in relief. Dean swallows back the sudden lump in his throat and squeezes Jack a little tighter.

“Hey. You alright?”

He breaks away to let Sam get a hug in too, and Jack’s voice is temporarily muffled by an expanse of plaid. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry if I worried you, I couldn’t get away before now.”

“What the hell happened?” Dean asked. “We felt more of those… things. The shifts. What were those?”

They move back to the table, and Sam sits Jack down before taking his own seat beside Eileen again. Dean stays standing, his arms crossed tightly, resisting the urge to tap his foot, jiggle his leg, _something._ Jack takes a breath.

“That was the Empty expelling it’s inhabitants.”

Dean stops breathing, and Sam’s head jerks up. But Jack’s eyes go shiny, and he shakes his head. “Castiel… he’s the only one who didn’t come back.”

Dean bites down hard on the inside of his lip. The coppery taste of blood seeps onto his tongue, but he doesn’t stop. If he does, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. Flip a chair, maybe, or just sit down, curl up into a ball, and cry. Both. Neither. Who the fuck knows.

Sam breaks the silence. “So… every angel, every demon in the Empty… they’re _all_ back?”

Jack sighs. “Yes. I’ve been busy in Heaven, and I can’t stay long. I’m needed.”

“Do we… do we have to worry about that?” Sam asks, his brow furrowed in barely controlled alarm. His hand twitches on the tabletop. “That’s… a lot of bad news.” Eileen silently puts a hand on his arm, steadying him.

“No,” Jack says reassuringly. “Humanity is safe. I’m not allowing any angels or demons onto this plane, and the biggest trouble-makers have been… put into time-out, I guess you could say. They won’t be causing any trouble, I promise.”

“That’s… that’s good, Jack,” Sam says, relief suffusing his face. “It sounds like you’re doing a good job.”

Jack ducks his head, a tiny, bashful smile creeping onto his face. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Dean forces himself to chime in. “Yeah, Sam’s right,” he agrees, as kindly as he can manage. “Your mom’d be proud, Jack. _We’re_ proud.” His nails dig half-moons into his palms. “Cas’d be proud, too. I know he would.”

Jack's eyes meet Dean's, and they're... careful. Wary. “Dean, about that… Amara wanted to talk to you.”

Dean just looks at Jack, feeling like someone’s yanked the rug out from under his feet. “You said there was nothing you could do.”

“No. But there might be something that you can.”

And what the _fuck,_ when the _hell_ did this become an option, but before Dean can even think about processing that Jack closes his eyes, concentrating. He straightens slightly when he opens them again, and folds his hands neatly on the table in front of him.

“Dean,” Amara says, smiling at him before inclining her head towards Sam. “Sam, and Eileen, isn’t it? It’s good to see you.”

“What… what did he mean,” Dean says hoarsely. “Tell me.”

Amara looks up at him, her expression pleasant but oddly guarded. “Before you freed me, the Empty and I were…” she trails off, her eyebrows drawing together. “There’s no good way to describe it in human language. But we were both shadows of creation. We are much, much more similar than the Empty might claim.”

“So what? How does that help me?” The roughness in Dean’s voice surprises even him. He snaps his mouth shut.

Amara gives him a look. “I’m not the one you’re angry at, Dean. Sit down, and we’ll talk.”

He can see Sam and Eileen turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye. For a long minute, he doesn’t move, staring Amara down.

Finally, he sits. His arms stay crossed, though.

“There. Now spill.”

Amara shakes her head at him just a little, something fond in her eyes. Jack’s eyes. Whatever. “The Empty is weak. The effort of expelling so many angels and demons has drained it, but that was a price it was willing to pay for some peace and quiet. The barriers between it and this world are very thin at the moment, and will remain so for a short time. Around a week, I’d guess,” she says with emphasis. “So thin, in fact, that enough concerted thought and belief could hypothetically open a portal.”

Dean stares at her. “You’re telling me—” he cuts himself off, swallowing. “How?” he whispers.

“Next to love,” Amara says gently, “belief is the most powerful force in this universe. I know how you must think that sounds, but it’s true. And you Winchesters have more of both than most people do, Dean. Especially you. Especially in this case.”

He can’t— he can’t breathe right. He can… _fuck._

He can get Cas back.

But Amara holds up a hand, looking over at Sam. “You can’t just go rushing in, though; you’ll need a tether of some kind. The Empty can’t hold onto Dean, but it can confuse him, make it harder for him to find his way back. And even if you do succeed in finding Castiel,” she says, turning her gaze back towards Dean, “the Empty will still be able to exert it’s influence on him. If you want him back, I doubt he’ll be able to remain an angel.” At that, she makes a slight face. “Oh, fine,” she mutters. She looks back up, lifting one shoulder in a graceful shrug. “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. Jack and I can’t help you in any concrete way beyond telling you this; you’re on your own from here.”

Dean leans forward a little, resting his arms on the table. _“Thank_ you,” he breathes.

Amara smiles at him with Jack’s mouth. “No. Thank you, Dean Winchester.

"The universe owes you and yours a greater debt than you can imagine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to write this after the travesty that was the end of this show. Like. What the fuck. So many loose ends and plot holes, so much character assassination, so much abandonment of every single thing Supernatural has always told us about free will, and found family, and the unfathomable strength of love in every form.
> 
> I don't accept that.
> 
> So here is my attempt to do what those who were able were too afraid to, and to do right by these characters that we all love so much. I hope I can do this justice.
> 
> (Each chapter is named after a song from either folklore or evermore by Taylor Swift, and I highly recommend listening as you read. Believe me, I would never have expected that I'd be listening to this much T Swift in the year of our Lord 2020, but, well. Here we are.)
> 
> Nepenthene


	2. this is me trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I just wanted you to know_   
>  _That this is me trying_
> 
> _At least I’m trying_

Three days. It took them almost three days — of exhaustive research, of too little sleep, of restless urgency and a faint, terrible hope aching in Dean’s chest — to find something that might work, combing through what felt like every goddamn spellbook they had. But it was worth the effort.

It was Eileen who’d struck gold, deep in a translation of an Aramaic scroll the Men of Letters had stashed away in the back of the library. The spell she’d found is for a soul bond, basically, that allows the person doing the binding to summon the other participant to their side once it’s done. And after Sam did a little bit of looking at it, he thinks they’d be able to tweak it to allow some two-way communication, too: enough that Dean could let Sam know when he’s got… when he’s ready to come back, like a diver tugging on a rope to let the guy on the boat know he’s good to go. 

It’s perfect.

So of course, Sam doesn’t understand why Dean’s decided to fight him on it.

 _“Why?”_ he says again, the volume of his voice rising another notch in frustration. “That doesn’t make any goddamn _sense,_ Dean. You heard Amara, we don’t have that much time and I don’t think we’re gonna be able to find a workaround! I _know_ you want Cas back, so I don’t understand why you’re trying to get out of this!”

 _“Jesus,_ Sam,” Dean barks, slamming the book of Egyptian mysticism he’s got in front of him closed with a bang. “You think I don’t know all that? You think I just, what? _Forgot?_ No! It’s all I can fucking think about, alright?”

Sam goes quiet. Dean clenches his hands and closes his eyes for a minute, forcing himself to take a few even breaths. “I know, okay? I _know._ But you— I can’t ask you to do that.”

His brother stares at him, equal parts confused and angry. “What the hell? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sam,” Dean says, desperately trying to get him to see. “This is insane. The Empty’s unstable, we have no idea how long we’ve got. What if I go in, and it slams the door before you can get me out? You’d be a fuckin’ _vegetable._ That soul bond you’re so excited about wouldn’t go away, and you’d be worse than dead.” Sam opens his mouth, but Dean cuts him off. “No. We’re _free._ You’ve got _Eileen,_ you’ve got a chance at a _life,_ you dumbass. I’m not gonna let you risk everything you’ve got on the off chance that I’ll be able to get Cas outta there.” He looks back down, shaking his head. “I want him back, of _course_ I want him back,” he chokes. “But he— he _chose_ to sacrifice himself for— for us, so that we could _live._ He meant for us to _move on._ And I am _not_ going to put your life on the line so I can be— so that I can be selfish. If we can find another way, I’m all for it. But I’m not gonna make you pay so I can get what I want.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“You’re _already_ being selfish, you jerk. _”_

Dean’s head jerks up in shock, his wide eyes meeting Sam’s narrowed ones. “Or at least self-centred and just… _blind._ You think you’re the only one who wants Cas back? _God,_ Dean, he’s my friend too. Hell, he’s as much my brother as you are at this point. And Jack? Didn’t you see his face when he told us he couldn’t interfere? When he said Cas was the only one the Empty didn’t spit out? The three of us are the closest thing he has to parents, and we both know what losing those is like.” 

He scowls, counting people off on his fingers. “Me. Jack. _Claire._ Eileen, Charlie, Jody, I could keep going. We all want him back, Dean. I’m not gonna ask about whatever obviously went down between you two before he got taken, but whatever it is, it’s screwing with your perception of things. You’re far from the only one who cares about him, and it’s frankly kinda insulting that you think I’m gonna just _give up_ when we’ve got a chance to bring him back.”

Dean just looks at Sam, at his heaving shoulders and the redness of his eyes. And he’s _angry._ Not the ferocious, uncontrollable rage that he’s been wondering lately how much was really him and how much was Chuck fucking with his head; it’s the low, painful anger borne of hurt. Of an irrational feeling of betrayal, of _you left me, you always leave me,_ of not being able to spit out the words he needed to when it was important, of remembering every time over the last _twelve goddamn years_ when he’s brushed Cas off or lashed out at him or treated him like shit.

He misses Cas too much to be angry at him. But he can sure as hell be angry at himself.

“You know what he said to me before Billie broke through?” Dean says lowly, his voice thick and cutting. “He said that I was the most caring person he knew. That he— that he didn’t believe I was a killer. He said that I was the best, kindest man he’d ever met, and that it was because of me that he changed at all in the first place.”

Sam’s deflating, his anger being pushed out by sympathy, but Dean’s not done. A tear slips down over his cheek before he can stop it, and he grins bitterly. “And then he said that he— that he loved me, Sam.” It’s the first time Dean’s said it out loud, and as he does it hits him all over again. Cas _loved_ him, _fuck,_ he— but he pushes past it, forces the words out through the almost painful tightness of his throat. “He said that he loved me, and then he pushed me out of the way so that the Empty would take him and Billie and leave me alone. And I was too much of a fucking _coward_ to say anything back.” He stands up, his chair squeaking against the floor. “So yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m probably a little screwed up from that.”

 _“Dean,”_ Sam says softly, pity and horror suffusing his face. “God, I’m—”

“Sorry?” Dean interrupts. “Yeah. Me too.” He turns away, scrubbing an angry hand over his face, and walks out.

Sam doesn’t follow him.

— - —

He’d known he’d have to tell Sam at some point. It was always gonna come up. But _shit,_ Dean hadn’t— he hadn’t expected it to hurt _this much._

He sits down on his bed and puts his head in his hands, trying to breathe through the desire to just fold up and cry. Never mind that he’s shut up in his room, never mind that Sam’s probably gonna give him a minute to cool off before bringing up the soul bond shit again. If he lets himself give in, he has no idea how long it’ll be before he can stop.

Then there’s a rustle and a bounce as the bed dips beside him, and Dean looks up just in time to get a face full of dog. Miracle licks his cheek, tail wagging, and Dean pulls him into his lap to bury his face in the dog’s shaggy fur. Miracle squirms around, whining softly, and bumps Dean’s neck with his cold, wet nose.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, a tiny smile pulling at his mouth in spite of everything running through his head. “I haven’t been much fun lately, have I. Sorry, bud.”

Miracle just wags his tail harder and scrabbles his paws on Dean’s thigh to keep his balance. Dean scratches the little guy’s side, weighing an idea that pops into his head. Then he looks Miracle in the face.

“I could use a break, dude. You wanna go for a walk?”

Miracle’s ears twitch excitedly and he scrambles off Dean’s lap in a flurry of cream-coloured fur, streaking towards the door. Dean watches him, smiling a little.

Then Miracle sits, looks back at him, and barks once in annoyance. 

“Okay,” Dean laughs. “Cool it. I’m coming, I’m coming.”

He braces himself as they walk through the hallways, keeping a wary eye out in case they run into Sam before they can escape outside. But somehow they luck out: his little brother is nowhere to be seen.

Eileen is sitting at the map table, though, her elbow propped on Siberia as she flips through a magazine. She looks up as Dean walks into her field of view, and Dean can tell from the look on her face that she knows at least part of what happened. He pauses, fidgeting with Miracle’s leash, and attempts a wan smile. “Hey. Just going for a walk.”

She smiles gently at him. “I’ll let Sam know. When are you going to be back?”

Dean shrugs noncommittally. “Before dinner. I just need...”

“Space,” she says. “I get it.”

He looks at her for a minute, noticing the bags under her eyes that match the ones under his and Sam’s. She’s been the one keeping it together over the past few days: forcing them to sleep and eat occasionally, going out for groceries, even taking the dog out a couple times when Dean’s been too preoccupied to remember.

“I’m… I’m glad you’re here, Eileen,” he says. “Really. Been pretty shit at showing it, but I am.” _Thank you,_ he signs clumsily. That’s about the only sign he knows, but… he’d like to learn a couple more. Has ever since he realized how serious Sam is about Eileen.

She suppresses a smile and signs something back that’s probably _You’re welcome._ Or who knows, maybe she’s telling him his signing sucks. (Probably not, though.)

“Do you want to help me make dinner later?” she asks, her face free of judgement. Dean leans down to clip Miracle’s leash on, considering it, then straightens back up and gives her a little nod. 

“Sure. I, uh… yeah.”

“Okay,” Eileen says easily, her lips quirked into a smile. “Meet me in the kitchen whenever you get back. Now, out. You’re teasing Miracle.”

Miracle barks for emphasis, and Dean manages a last small grin before they make their way up the stairs and head outside.

He stops for a second after closing the door behind them, shutting his eyes as the late afternoon sun hits his face. He takes a long, slow breath of air, and savours the cool freshness of it in his lungs. He hasn’t been outside since… since Jack brought everybody back, he guesses. Been too busy with researching.

Miracle tugs at the leash, and Dean blinks his eyes open again. “Right, sorry. Where to?”

The dog starts off towards the mouth of the trail through the woods, the one Sam likes to run in the mornings, and Dean follows with his free hand jammed into the pocket of his coat. It’s nice out, but there’s a faint chill in the air: a reminder that fall is on its way. 

The trees’ll probably start to turn in the next few weeks. It’ll be October soon.

They walk down the little path, through the canopy of trees, but before long Dean pauses to take a knee and unclips Miracle’s leash. 

“Seems kinda stupid to have this on when we’re all the way out here, huh,” Dean says as he ruffles the fur on either side of Miracle’s neck. “Just stay close, got it? I don’t wanna have to chase you through the forest.”

Miracle licks his face in response and bounces away to nose at a tree, tail wagging furiously. Dean rubs at the slobber with his sleeve, shaking his head fondly, and they continue at an easy stroll, Miracle darting back and forth to investigate anything that catches his interest.

Cas’d like him, Dean thinks out of the blue. He’d like Miracle. It’s an odd non-sequitur of a thought, but he feels like it’s true: Dean can just imagine him crouching down to look the dog in the eyes, all serious as he introduced himself and talking like the little dude could understand him perfectly. Maybe reaching out and hesitantly patting his head, saying, “Good boy.”

The image is like a knife in Dean’s gut.

Just— what the hell is he supposed do if they can’t pull this off?

They’ve always managed to come out on top before, but that means nothing now: Dean has no idea anymore if any of the big stuff they’ve done was really them at all. Chuck had his hands in _everything_ _._ But with him out of the picture and Jack sticking to real free will, literally everything is resting on their shoulders this time. And Dean’s not sure if they’re up to the challenge.

If this doesn’t work, Dean’s… 

He’s gonna...

He’ll have to cut some part of himself off. That’s the only way he can see himself getting past this, because he can’t just _deal_ with Cas being gone; he’s never been able to. 

That should’ve clued him in so much earlier than it did, he thinks bitterly as a breeze sneaks under the collar of his coat, making him shiver. Fuck.

But this time it’s different. Because even though Cas was a still a stupid, sacrificial son of a bitch like he always is, he was in control the entire time they were in that godforsaken room. He’s a strategist, always has been, and the things he said to Dean in those few precious moments he had left were meant to make things easier. To give Dean the strength to carry on.

And they had, Dean supposes as he kicks a twig out of his path. After he’d finished falling apart, the sheer _faith_ Cas’d had in him had assured him that they were doing the right thing, had whispered encouragement to _hold on just a little longer, you can do this_ as Chuck beat him and Sam bloody, had warmed him like a hand on his shoulder when he looked his maker in the eye and told him he wasn’t the killer he was meant to be.

But that was when there’d still been a part of him that believed Cas was gonna come back. Now that part’s been whittled down to a mere sliver, like the paper-thin crescent that hangs precariously in the sky during the last days before a new moon. Too frail to cast anything more than the faintest glow on the darkness beneath it.

He’s… he’s not going to crumble, though.

He won’t let himself. He refuses. Cas didn’t do this so Dean could drown in drink, or shut himself off from the world, or go on reckless hunts until he dies like he’s always been sure he would, at the edge of a blade or by the claws of some evil thing. That’s not what he wanted for Dean.

So, no. No matter how tempting it is, no matter how strong the pull of the despair gets, Dean will _not_ let Cas have died in vain.

Won’t let him have loved in vain.

No matter what happens, Dean’s going to _live._

There’s a nudge at his legs, and Dean looks down. Miracle tilts his head and bumps Dean’s knee with his shoulder again. He’s holding a stick in his mouth.

“What, you want me to throw that?” Dean says. Miracle drops it on Dean’s boots and then looks expectantly back up at him.

“Alright. You asked for it,” Dean says as he stoops to grab the broken-off branch. Then he stands up straight, adjusts his stance, and winds his arm back. Miracle tenses, eyes glued to the stick. 

Slowly, Dean grins.

— - —

Eileen’s already started on dinner by the time Dean wanders into the kitchen, still a little flushed from playing outside with Miracle. She’s dicing up chicken breasts at the counter, a big pot sitting next to her on the stove, and though she smiles at Dean when she sees him she doesn’t say anything. But that’s fine by Dean. He just rolls up his sleeves, washes his hands, and then takes a minute to look at the recipe printout Eileen has spread out on the counter. 

Hm. Chicken curry. Sounds good.

He pulls out another cutting board and gets busy, chopping onions and cilantro and mincing garlic and ginger. They work in companionable silence, browning the onions and garlic in olive oil at the bottom of the pot, then adding in the chicken, the tomatoes, the spices, the cream. Dean dumps way more curry powder in than the recipe says; Eileen laughs and rolls her eyes at him.

When the curry is simmering away under a lid and most of the dishes have been done, Dean shuts off the tap and dries his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder. “Take a seat. I’ll grab us some beer.”

“Why thank you,” Eileen says imperiously, her own damp dish towel thwapping against Dean’s chest as she tosses it at him. Dean makes a face, and she snickers remorselessly as she heads over to the table. He shakes his head, smiling a little, and hangs both the towels up before cracking the fridge open and seeing what they’ve got on ice.

“Hey.”

Dean tenses, looking up. Sam’s hovering in the doorway to the kitchen, his gaze flicking briefly to Eileen before settling back on Dean. “I, uh…” He runs a hand through his hair. “What’s for dinner?”

Dean pulls out three beers, closes the door of the fridge, and walks over to the table. He sets one down in front of his spot, hands one to Eileen, and then holds the last one out to his brother. “Chicken curry recipe Eileen found. It’ll probably be a while yet, if…” He swallows. “If you wanna talk about the plan.” When Sam does nothing but stare, Dean shakes the bottle at him a little. “Just take it. I’ve got… I’ve been doing some thinking.”

Sam does.

— - —

Miracle flops down on his dog bed, letting out a long, tired huff, and Dean snorts. “Oh, c’mon. We were only outside for, like, an hour and a half. Maybe.”

Miracle just closes his eyes. Dean reaches down to ruffle the fur on his head before settling in at his desk, and smiles at the single, lazy wag of a feathered tail he gets in response.

He should really be trying to sleep, he thinks guiltily as he boots up his laptop. Tomorrow’s the big day. He needs his rest. 

Still…

They’d talked things through over dinner, him, Sam, and Eileen, and they've decided on a plan. One that Dean doesn’t completely hate, actually. They’re still gonna do the soul bond, which he’s not ecstatic about, but he got Sam to promise him a few things in return, so… it could be worse. It has been worse. He should be grateful that they’ve found a compromise they can both deal with.

But this plan isn’t the only one Dean’s been thinking about. Cas had meant for him to move on, and no matter what happens with this, Dean wants… he wants to honour that. Make what Cas did mean something.

That’s easier said than done, though. If— if this doesn’t work out, if he fails and he’s sitting here this time tomorrow wishing he could just fuckin’ die already, he’s gonna… he’s gonna need something to do to hold him to that promise. Not a case, fuck no: that’d be a terrible idea, and he’s just about had enough of things that go bump in the night. But… he might have something else.

He scrolls through his bookmarks, to the link for the website he’d saved the last time he’d been hopeful enough to dare to think about the future. It’s right under a Travel to California website. Y’know, just… just in case they ever got around to that vacation they keep talking about.

The one he’s interested in, though, is the job listings site. He logs in, filters for anything within an hour’s commute in construction, and hits the search bar.

He takes a breath, scanning the list of results. It’s a couple pages long, and he can already see some promising listings. If he saves one or two to his profile, maybe sends a few emails… at least it’ll be something he’s already committed to. It’ll be harder for him to blow this off.

 _See?_ He thinks as he clicks on the first one, feeling a little stupid. It’s not like… it’s not like Cas can hear him. He knows that.

He prays anyways.

_I meant it. What you did was stupid, and I kinda hate you for it, but I’m not gonna let it go to waste._

_I’m gonna live, Cas._

_For you._


	3. happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There’ll be happiness after you  
>  But there was happiness because of you  
> Both of these things can be true  
> There is happiness_
> 
> _Past the blood and bruise  
>  Past the curses and cries  
> Beyond the terror in the nightfall  
> Haunted by the look in my eyes  
> That would’ve loved you for a lifetime  
> Leave it all behind  
> There is happiness_

When Dean wakes up the next morning, he’s tired.

Just… bone tired. Completely exhausted, for no good reason other than Cas is still gone and it’s the goddamn worst. He wasn’t up all night, he didn’t get startled awake by Miracle, hell, he didn’t even have any _dreams_ that he can remember. He went to bed feeling pretty decent after his reckoning with the job website, and he slept for _six whole hours,_ which is by _far_ the most he’s gotten since— anyways. The point is that he shouldn’t be this beat. And yet here he is, staring into his own shadowed, bag-laden eyes and ignoring the way the bones of his face have already started to stand out a little more sharply than they should as he goes through the motions of shaving and brushing his teeth. 

Honestly, he looks like shit.

Eh. What’s the damage, though? He already feels like shit, so he might as well look like it too.

At least the cup of coffee he grabs manages to brighten things up a little, but he can’t bring himself to eat anything. That’s not terrible, though: he’s gonna be doing interdimensional travel later today, and as much as he kinda likes the idea of hurling all over the Empty, he doesn’t want to waste any valuable time once he gets there.

So it’s fine. He’ll eat when he gets back.

He sneaks back out of the kitchen before Sam or Eileen show up, but he just ends up standing in the middle of his room, staring at the weapons lined up on the shelf behind his bed, hung up on the walls. 

There’s no use for them today. Shooting the Empty’d do jack squat except maybe make him feel better, and the knives, too, are useless. Silver and iron won’t do anything, and there won’t be any demons to dispatch. The only thing he’ll be bringing with him today is an angel blade, in case he has to drain Cas’ Grace. 

He doesn’t really like the thought of that very much. After everything that’s been taken from Cas, he’s supposed to take that too? It feels wrong.

He’ll do it if he has to, though. Humanity trumps death, and even if Cas is upset about it… hell, at least he’ll be around to be upset. 

Dean would take his anger over his absence any day.

Without thinking too hard about what he’s doing, he sets his mug down and starts packing the weapons away. The sawed-off, the pump action, the wooden stakes, everything: it all goes into a cardboard box he found in his closet. When he’s done, the only weapon left out is his pistol, the one with the mother-of-pearl inlay in the grip. And that goes inside the drawer of his bedside table.

With the box closed up and shoved back into the depths of his closet, he sits down on his bed. That did a little to settle the restless, troubled feeling humming through him, but it’s not enough. He needs something else to think about.

He pauses for a moment, then slips his wallet out of his pocket. 

He runs his thumb over the smooth, worn leather, eyes unfocused, before clenching his jaw and flipping it open. And then, almost hesitantly, he pulls out the picture tucked inside.

He doesn’t have many pictures of Cas, and even fewer good ones. There are a couple in the camera roll on his phone that he likes: Cas in a diner booth, Cas and Claire wearing identical expressions of disgruntlement at having their picture unexpectedly taken, a blurry one from a night he and Sam had gotten a little too drunk and he’d decided he needed to capture the exact shade of Cas’ eyes. 

This one, though. This one’s his favourite. Cas looked damn good in that cowboy hat, even if Dean knew he’d really only agreed to wear it to humour him. _(“I’m your huckleberry.”)_ But you’d never be able to tell from this picture: he looks like Clint Eastwood or something, like he _belongs_ in that hat, staring off into the distance all strong jaw and squinty eyes and shadowed scruff.

When he’d gone to the Walgreens in downtown Lebanon to get it printed, he’d told himself he was gonna give it to Cas as a little reminder of the good times, the ones that had been coming ever fewer and further between lately. Nights watching Tombstone, drives to hunts that felt more like road trips, takeout cups with two straws. The little in-between moments where they were happy, where the big stuff didn’t seem to matter so much. He’d never gotten around to it, though. He doesn’t think he’d ever really meant to give it up in the first place. 

He worries the edge of the picture between his thumb and forefinger, straightening a little crease. And just for a minute, he tries to think about the future again.

He imagines getting himself an apartment. Nothing crazy, obviously; just enough space for him to call his own. Taking Miracle for walks, working at a garage or on a construction crew, long drives in Baby just for the hell of it. Spoiling Sam’s kids rotten, eventually. Family dinners, dragging Claire out to play mini-putt, movie nights with Charlie.

Then he imagines doing all that alone. And he imagines a picture frame tucked up on a bookshelf, maybe, housing a faded image of a squinty-eyed angel in a cheap stetson.

The future still hurts like a motherfucker. But for the first time, he almost feels like he’d be able to do it.

A soft rap at the door makes him jump, and he quickly puts the picture away. Sam’s standing in the doorway, trying for a smile. “Hey. You ready?”

Dean gets up and pockets his wallet again. “As I’ll ever be.” He takes a breath. “Let’s go.”

— - —

“Dean?”

Dean blinks, tearing his eyes from the place where the right-hand wall meets the floor. “Hm?”

Sam’s paused what he’s doing to watch Dean. “I asked if you were alright.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He forces himself to step into the dungeon and walks over to the little table Sam has set up, crossing his arms and putting his back to _that_ side of the room. “So what do we have to do?”

Sam doesn’t stop looking at him. “I’m just getting the physical part of the spell together. There’s not really anything for you to do right now, actually.” 

Dean grunts his assent but stays where he is, and after a moment longer Sam starts back in on the ingredients he’s mixing up. 

He just stands there for a little while, watching Sam crush things up, mix things together, murmur short incantations. It’s something to do, at least. Better than remembering what he was doing the last time he was in here.

“You put all your guns away.”

Dean glances at Sam. “You noticed that, huh.”

Sam shrugs, grinding some kind of herb with a mortar and pestle. “Yeah, I noticed,” he says with a quirk of his lips. “Half the decor in your room disappeared.”

Dean lets out a helpless little huff of laughter. It dies as a mere exhale, though. Nothing about this is very funny. 

Absently, he picks at a seam on his sleeve. “I dunno. I’m just… I’m tired of this, Sammy.”

Sam’s head jerks towards him, every line of his body snapping to attention, and Dean shakes his head sharply. “No, no. Not like— not like that.”

“Like what, then? Talk to me, Dean.” Sam’s voice is purposefully neutral, but there’s a tightness to it that matches the tenor of the rest of him. Like a rubber band pulled taut. “Please.”

He’s afraid.

Dean takes a second, figuring out the right way to put this to assuage Sam’s fears. “Remember, before all this, I was… I was talkin’ about retiring?”

Sam nods cautiously. 

“I was serious. And if…” he trails off. “After today, I’m out. That’s it. No more hunts, no more… I’m done.”

Sam considers that for a moment. “What are you gonna do instead?” he ventures finally.

Dean pokes at a glass jar of shriveled brown lumps. Chicken hearts, maybe? “I was looking at job listings last night. There are a couple construction crews hiring around here, one garage. Sent a few emails, so. I guess I’ll see if that goes anywhere.”

A beat. “That’s… that sounds good, Dean.” 

Slowly, Sam goes back to his mortar and pestle. Dean sighs. “Look. I’m not gonna leave you, okay? I won’t do that to you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not…” he pauses. “I wanna make Cas proud,” he finishes softly. For pretty much the first time since they came down here, he meets Sam’s eyes. “So. I promise, okay? I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Then he pulls Sam into a hug, because why not. Kid looks like he needs it, honestly. 

Dean thinks he does, too.

They part just as Eileen walks in, an angel blade in hand. She smiles at Dean and brushes a hand over his arm before putting the blade down on the table. “Almost ready?”

“Yeah, almost,” Sam says as he pours the ground herbs into the bowl, mixing the contents with a spoon. Then he picks the bowl up and looks at Dean. 

“What exactly are we doing with that?” Dean asks. He feels like he already knows what the answer’s gonna be.

Sam shrugs sheepishly. “We, uh. Have to drink it.”

Dean grimaces, eyeing the floating bits of god knows what on the surface of the thick, dark liquid. Yep. That’s what he thought.

Eileen leans against the wall next to the door, watching carefully as they get down to business. They split Sam’s swamp juice evenly: Sam drinks first, then Dean.

It’s possibly one of the most disgusting things Dean’s ever tasted, and it makes him extremely glad he decided not to have anything but coffee. Iron stomach or no, this is… there aren’t words. Makes him wanna, wanna _remove_ his _tastebuds_ or something. Gah. 

After taking back the empty bowl and setting it aside, Sam turns towards Dean and places his hand flat against Dean’s chest, right over his heart. Dean mirrors him and answers the questioning look in Sam’s eyes with a single, deliberate nod. He’s ready.

Then Sam starts the incantation.

At first, Dean can’t even tell if it’s doing anything. But after Sam’s been chanting for thirty seconds or so, he realizes that Sam’s hand is heating up against his chest. Like, enough that he can feel it through both of his shirts. 

By the time Sam’s been chanting for a minute and a half, Dean’s gritting his teeth and twisting the fingers of his free hand into Sam’s sleeve to keep from breaking the connection. Sam’s hand is a white-hot brand, radiating unbearably into Dean’s chest in a way that dredges up a host of incredibly unpleasant, long-buried memories. His own hand doesn’t feel hot, but he can tell from the look on Sam’s face that he’s feeling the same thing.

Sam’s panting now, the chant spilling faster and faster out of his mouth. Then he meets Dean’s eyes, gasps the final words, and—

Dean groans, pushing himself into a sitting position and rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. His mouth feels dry and gummy, coated with the sour slick of the spell mixture, which has now taken on a disgusting burnt-sugar aftertaste. Across the room, Eileen is helping Sam up; as his brother’s eyes meet his, Dean feels a disconcertingly _other_ but somehow immediately recognizable swell of concern before Sam even opens his mouth.

“I’m fine,” he says, and Sam’s eyes widen as he walks over, only a little unsteadily, to pull Dean to his feet.

“I guess it worked, then.” Relief, faith, a hopeful little burst of confidence. But then his forehead furrows and the concern starts to flow back in. Dammit, he must be able to feel—

“Don’t,” Dean says quietly. 

Sam closes his mouth.

— - —

Dean downs the last of his water and gets up, crossing to the table to exchange the empty plastic bottle for the angel blade. Sam and Eileen get to their feet too, and Dean turns to face them. 

Sam’s been watching him ever since the bond kicked in, and his concern is really starting to grate on Dean’s nerves. “You’re ready?” he asks, a crease between his eyebrows. “We can rest for a little longer, Dean.”

Dean scowls irritably. “I’m fine.” Sam knows he’s not. Whatever. “I just wanna get this over with, alright?”

“Alright,” Sam acquiesces, putting his hands up a little in surrender. He directs a burst of curiosity towards Dean, and Dean responds with what reassurance he can muster. Sam nods. “Looks like the bond’s good to go.”

“Six hours,” Dean reminds him sternly. “Then you pull me out, no matter what. And if the Empty starts acting up before that, that’s when we’re gonna call it quits. No matter what I might say. Right?”

Sam still doesn’t like this any more than he did when Dean first wrung the promises out of him yesterday, but Dean knows he’ll keep up his end of the bargain. He might _want_ to get Cas back, might even want it almost as much as Dean does, but the difference is that he doesn't _need_ Cas. Dean's always come first, for Sam, and that hasn't changed.

He'll drag Dean back, Cas or no, as soon as he needs to. Which is what Dean's counting on. He doesn't trust himself not to do something stupid.

“Right. Six hours,” Sam repeats. He tries to push the distaste from his voice with a little levity. “Don’t get distracted and stop for burgers on the way.”

The pale ghost of a smile pulls at Dean's lips. “Don't worry. They’d probably be shit, anyways.” Then he turns to face the back wall of the dungeon.

They decided that this was as good a place as any to try and open the portal. Amara hadn’t mentioned if the Empty’s weakness had any physical element, or whether it was purely energy-and-metaphysics based, but this was the last place the Empty had torn through to this world, so they’re hoping it’s become a weak spot of sorts. 

Dean closes his eyes, tightening his grip on the angel blade. Show time.

 _Dear Cas,_ he starts. _Dear Cas who art a stupid son of a bitch, wake the hell up; because I’m coming to get you, and I’m not gonna do this all on my own._

Then he furrows his brow, and focuses.

The things that surface, that crowd his mind as he thinks about Cas, aren’t unexpected; they’re the constants, the things that’ve stuck with him over the years. The things that _matter._ They don’t surprise him, but they hurt and soothe in equal measure, the way they always have.

A voice, made low and rough by power it wasn’t equipped to handle: _I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._ A handprint, seared onto Dean’s skin, branded on his soul, soaked into the sleeve of his jacket: _I touched him first. I touched him last._ Countless prayers, a sea of them, all directed towards the only person besides Sam who Dean’s ever let himself have real, true, unconditional faith in. Even when they hurt each other. Even when they fuck up.

Dean hears Sam hitch a breath, feels a swell of jittery excitement emanating from him. “Keep going,” he breathes, like he’s trying not to disturb the thick atmosphere of the room. “Something’s happening, Dean, you’re almost there.”

 _I’d rather have you, cursed or not. I’m not leaving here without you. I need you. I forgive you,_ of course _I forgive you._

_Don’t do this._

Dean hunches forward a little, his mouth screwed up against a sob. _I love you,_ he thinks brokenly. _I love you, and I almost told you but I didn’t because I was too fucking scared, and now everything’s wrong and I can’t—_

Looking at Cas’ lifeless face one last time before covering it with a shroud. Yelling his name as an angel blade sinks up to the hilt in his bloodied, battered, very human chest. Choking back tears as he clutches at a dripping trench coat. The bottom dropping out of his stomach as Cas disintegrates into a fine red mist.

_No. You don’t get to have him. I’m taking him back._

There’s a wet, sucking squelch, and Dean looks up, his cheeks damp. The oozing portal squirms in front of him, revealing a flat, featureless expanse of blackness through the opening. 

The Empty.

He turns, sparing a last look over his shoulder at Sam. Just in case.

Then he plunges into darkness.


	4. evermore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I rewind the tape but all it does is pause  
>  On the very moment all was lost  
> Sending signals  
> To be double crossed_
> 
> _And I was catching my breath  
>  Barefoot in the wildest winter  
> Catching my death  
> And I couldn't be sure  
> I had a feeling so peculiar  
> That this pain would be for  
> Evermore ___

Black.

Everything is black.

No, Dean takes that back. Not really. ‘Black’ is a colour. He has black shirts. Baby is black, Cas’ hair is black. This…

This is  _ nothing. _

Dean's breathing is loud in his ears. He looks down, a token sort of relief settling through him when he realizes he can still see his hands, his body. And he feels like his feet are planted on something solid, even though that doesn’t make any goddamn sense. 

Something tells him he probably shouldn’t think too hard about that, though. Nothing good can come from trying to make this place make sense.

He closes his eyes instead, trying to focus on the thread of connection he has to Sam. It’s faint, tenuous, but he can still pick up the definite question, the feeling of  _ are you okay?  _ whispering along it with muffled urgency. He sends back as much of a  _ yes _ as he can and hopes it was enough to get through. 

He opens his eyes again and looks around. It’s no use. Still nothing.

“Cas?” he tries. No response. Louder, then. “Cas? Castiel?”

“Dean?”

He whips around at the voice, his heart leaping— 

But it plummets again almost immediately, the name he’d been about to breathe sticking in his throat like a stone. 

Because that’s not Cas. 

His Cas has never given him a wide, cruel grin like that, has never looked at him like he’s a mildly interesting bug.

“Oh, you should’ve seen your  _ face,” _ the Empty says in gleeful satisfaction. “It was  _ pathetic.” _

“Where is he?” Dean grits out, balling the hand not clenched around the angel blade into a fist. 

The longer he looks, though, the more obvious it becomes that this thing isn’t Cas. It might be wearing his face, yeah, but that’s where the similarity ends. There’s something about the eyes, a paradoxical combination of deadness and malevolent intelligence that makes the hairs stand up on the back of Dean’s neck. And he’s got the weirdest feeling that if he tried to walk around to see the Empty’s back, there wouldn’t be anything there. That it’d be like looking at the inside of a plastic Halloween mask.

The Empty just laughs. “Hilarious. He went through all this for you and here you are, willingly doing a swan dive into the void at the first opportunity. Ten out of ten, by the way. Full marks. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to know that his big sacrifice meant nothing to you.”

“Shut up,” Dean growls. “I’m here to take him back, and you’re not gonna stop me.”

Something hardens in the Empty’s stolen face and it stalks towards Dean, eddies of negative space swirling off the hem of it’s trench coat. “You think you can threaten me? You’re less than insignificant. I have existed since before the dawn of time, you insolent gnat. You have no power here.”

“Maybe I am, and maybe I don’t,” Dean says with a cold, mirthless grin. “But I’m also the biggest asshole you’re ever gonna meet, with a chip on my shoulder the size of Texas. And I’m not leaving until I get what I came for. So you’d better settle in for a long, sleepless wait if you wanna keep being a petty piece of shit.”

The Empty glares at him, making a low, jarring thrumming noise that’s definitely this thing’s version of a growl. Dean doesn’t let himself flinch. This isn’t his first rodeo. 

But then suddenly, the Empty’s mouth twists into a shrewd, mocking grin. Dean watches it warily, thrown by the change in approach. “Or we could always… work something out. I know what you  _ really _ want. That squishy little brain of yours is practically swimming in hormones.” It rearranges it’s face into an expression that’s so like Cas that Dean could almost believe it’s really him.

Almost. 

“Dean,” the Empty croons softly, in the same voice it used to trick him earlier. Cas’ voice. Dean clenches his jaw as it sways closer, crossing the line from threatening to intimate with deliberate ease. It smiles, earnest and blank. “Dean, I never thought I’d see you again. We can be together now, I love—”

“Get  _ the fuck _ off me,” Dean barks, shoving the Empty away from him. He shivers, still able to feel the cool press of it’s hand against his arm. “You slimy motherfucker, give him to me.  _ Now.” _

The Empty drops the saccharine expression, glowering at him again. Dean’s stomach rolls with nausea. It thought— christ. Why do they always think that’ll work? 

“Fine,” it hisses, and Dean’s knees go weak with relief. “At the very least, it’ll be entertaining to watch you fall apart when you realize you can’t wake him. I’ve got him locked down tighter than Fort Knox, as you humans say. And we both know that that brother of yours won’t let you stay here forever.” Every word sinks into Dean like a razor-sharp sliver of ice, but he refuses to look away. The Empty grins viciously. “I’m getting stronger every second, and sooner or later he’ll yank you back out. You’ll be empty-handed when he does. You won’t succeed.”

“I’m not gonna ask again,” Dean says, deadly quiet. With one final sneer, the Empty dissolves back into nothingness. 

**_Have fun failing, lover boy._ **

And then suddenly, Dean’s not standing in a formless abyss anymore.

— - —

“—Raphael’s head on a pike. I’m talking about happy endings for all of us, with all possible double entendres intended,” Crowley drawls, subtly ticking his head towards the man raking leaves in the yard across from them.

Dean shakes his head, blinking hard as he reels from the sudden change in surroundings. What the hell is this? That’s… that’s  _ him,  _ raking leaves over there, and this is… this is Lisa Braeden’s backyard. What the  _ fuck? _

“C’mon,” the demon says cajolingly to the figure at his side. “Just a chat.”

The man turns his head, and Dean nearly sobs in relief. Because  _ that’s  _ Cas.

But then he’s hit with such an overwhelming wave of emotion that it  _ literally  _ knocks the air out of him, and he stumbles back to lean heavily against a tree, his eyes going wide. The Cas standing next to Crowley looks at the demon with nothing more than faint disgust on his face, still more focused on the other Dean than anything else. But that’s completely at odds with the well of loathing, regret,  _ despair _ washing over Dean in wave after howling, destructive wave.

“I have no interest in talking to you,” the steely-eyed angel says. He turns away from the other Dean, though: just a little. And real Dean gasps as another torrent of emotion rips through him.

It’s Cas, he realizes suddenly.  _ His  _ Cas. He’s stuck inside his past self, reliving the moment he started down the path to becoming God. 

This moment, though? Why this one? Dean doesn’t understand why Cas is practically losing his mind over  _ this. _ But as soon as he finishes that thought, there’s a nauseating sucking feeling somewhere in the pit of his stomach, and the scene dissolves in a swirl of dead leaves and bitterness. 

When it reforms, Dean finds himself at the edge of a dark stone room that’s damp with the scent of the underground, the single shaft of light coming in through the roof glinting coldly off of Cas’ raised sword.

“Cas,” he hears his own voice croak from across the room, wracked with pain of more than one kind. It bounces weirdly off the vaulted ceiling of the crypt. “This isn’t you,” the other him pleads, crumpled on his knees at Cas’ feet. “This isn’t you.”

Another wail of emotional distress tears through Dean, and now… shit, now he gets it.

Cas is stuck in a loop of his worst regrets, unable to do anything but watch as he makes the same mistakes, over and over and over again. No end, no deviation. Just negative feedback that builds with every repetition.

This…

This is bad.

— - —

“I am not your father.”

“And we don’t have time for this, Cas, wake the hell up!”

Castiel turns away from Claire’s confusion and walks out the door, eyes sliding right over Dean like he’s not there.

— - —

**_Still no luck?_ **

“Show your face, you asshole!” Dean yells towards the sky, the Empty’s voice echoing through his head. Next to him, Cas stabs a young woman whose eyes glow the luminous gold of a nephilim while Metatron looks on.

The Empty’s laughter is smug and  _ everywhere. _

— - —

“No, you son of a bitch, you don’t get to ignore me!”

“This isn’t you,” fake Dean chokes out. Real Dean fists his hands in Cas’ lapels and howls into his face.

“You never listen, just  _ listen _ for  _ once  _ in your goddamn life!”

Cas’ eyes are blank.

— - —

_ “Cas. _ I’m right here, dammit,  _ look  _ at me!”

Cas doesn’t even blink. “Apparently we have a Judas in our midst.” 

Dean runs his hands through his hair, biting back a scream of frustration. He’s… he doesn’t even know what loop this is. This is at least the seventh time he’s watched Cas murder Balthazar, and there… there are so many regrets in the cycle. So many.

Dean tries not to think about how little he features. He feels like he should be here more, but… he’s not.

_ Stupid bastard, _ he thinks hopelessly.  _ I know you love me, but this is ridiculous.  _

Shaking Cas, slapping him, hell, even punching him have no effect other than ripping the hole in Dean’s chest a little wider every time he tries. It’s like Dean’s invisible. He hasn’t tried the angel blade, but he doesn’t dare. What if it hurts Cas by accident? He’ll just— he’ll just have to keep trying, and hope that sooner or later he gets through.

**_We can stop anytime you want. Just say the word,_** the Empty sing-songs into the back of his brain.

“Jesus, just fuck  _ off!”  _ he yells. He watches Cas stab Balthazar in the back, wincing at the emotional blowback, and braces himself as the scene resets. “I’m not leaving, Cas,” he says. “I’m not leaving without you.”

Just before the room dissolves around them, Cas’ eyes meet his.

— - —

Something’s happening.

It’s only in the very last moment before the scene resets, but the past three or four times Dean’s been sure Cas has started to snap out of it. He tries not to react, just keeps up with what he was doing before so the Empty doesn’t catch on. But he makes sure to load the last few moments before the resets with meaningful things. Things Cas has said to him, things he’s said to Cas. The big things.

Well. All but one. He can’t… he can’t say  that when Cas might not even hear it. When he might not remember.

It’s slow, but whatever’s happening starts to spread. Sometimes Cas’ll hesitate before he says the things he’s supposed to, like an actor forgetting their lines. Once, he stumbles over brushing off tiny, twelve-year-old Claire. Another time he looks at fake Dean raking for longer than he ever has before. And more and more often, his eyes will find Dean in the last second before the reset. 

Cas is standing, listening to Metatron monologue about his grand plan or something when Dean stops, closing his eyes for a second. There’s… there’s something coming from Sam, he can’t… can’t quite tell what it is. His brow furrows as he focuses, honing in on the warm press of Sam’s thoughts.

When he gets it, he goes cold.

It’s an urgent, frantic  _ we’re almost out of time. _

His hands are on Cas’ shoulders before he consciously decides to put them there, and he shakes Cas a little as he peers desperately into his eyes, looking for even the tiniest flicker of recognition. Something,  _ anything. _ “Cas, please, you’ve gotta snap out of it. This— I don’t know how long we’ve got, you need to wake up  _ now.”  _ Cas looks through him and promises to help Metatron. Dean digs his fingers in tighter, throat closing in panic. “I  _ need  _ you, Cas, I— I don’t know how to keep going when you’re gone. You don’t know what it was like last time you died, I couldn’t—” 

A sob cuts him off and he ducks his head, tears threatening. He breathes, pushes them down, then looks back up. And softly, gently, he brings his hands up to cradle Cas’ stupid, beautiful face.  _ “Please,  _ Cas. Come back to me.”

He doesn’t react. And Dean’s heart breaks a second time.

Then Cas blinks.

Dean falls to his knees, retching. Cas isn’t standing in front of him anymore. The scene glitches wildly around him, damp stone then dry leaves then Crowley’s drawl under his hands, interrupted by flashes of the nothingness hovering just beyond the illusions. Dean’s head feels like it’s being split in two, his entire body rebelling at the sheer  _ wrongness  _ of everything happening around him. He forces himself to look up, Jimmy’s rapture at saying yes bursting bright on his tongue, and sees him.

Cas is standing in the centre of it all, clutching his head. The Empty shrieks all around them, but it can’t seem to stop whatever’s happening. Cas is muttering to himself, Dean can see his lips moving, but he can’t— he can’t tell what it is.

“Cas,” he groans, fingers spasming around the angel blade in his hand. “Cas, I’m here.”

Cas looks up, face stricken. “No,” he whispers. “No, it’s not… you can’t be here. You’re not real.”

Dean claws his way to his feet, dry, gasping sobs of pain tearing their way out of his throat. “M’real,” he chokes. “We’re real. It’s me, Cas. I’m gonna take you home.”

Cas stares at him, oblivious to everything else. He breathes. In and out, in and out.

“Dean?” 

His voice is plaintive, achingly vulnerable, and Dean nods, fighting another crippling spike of agony. “Yeah, Cas.”

And just like that, the illusion shatters.

Cas collapses and Dean stumbles to his side, dropping to his knees. One of Cas’ hands fists in his jacket, his eyelids fluttering. “You’re… you’re here. Dean, you can’t… you can’t be here.”

“Like hell I can’t,” Dean laughs wetly, dragging Cas into his arms. “I wasn’t gonna leave you here, you idiot. Not a chance.”

**_HOW?_ **

Dean shudders, the Empty’s rage beating against him like a physical thing.  **_HOW HAVE YOU DONE THIS?_ **

Cas’ eyes roll back in his head, the illusion flickering back into place for a second, and Dean shakes him frantically. “No, Cas, wake up! C’mon, stay with me, okay?”

Cas groans, fighting to open his eyes. The illusion stutters out of existence again, and Dean sends a blast of  _ get ready _ down to Sam.

“Cas, I think I’m gonna have to drain your Grace, okay?” Dean says hurriedly, trying not to think too hard about it. “Where do I cut?” 

Cas’ head lolls in a weak nod and he brings a shaky hand up to tap his throat, just under his Adam’s apple. Dean swallows, adjusting his grip on the blade.

The light of Cas’ Grace is blinding where it well up from under his skin. A string of apologies spills from Dean’s lips as Cas’ face twitches in pain, and in the back of his mind he feels an answering twinge of  _ just hurryuphurryuphurryup  _ from Sam. 

The Grace spills down Cas’ neck with every breath he takes, somewhere between a liquid and a gas as it cascades mistily down his chest. “C’mon, c’mon, just a little more,” Dean reassures him, holding Cas close and brushing away the tears leaking sluggishly from the corners of his eyes. “You’re okay, just a little more, Cas, you’re gonna be okay.”

**_NO,_** the Empty screams, and Dean hunches forward over Cas as the last trickle of Grace leaves him. Cas lets out a half-sob and curls closer, the Empty pulling at them from every direction.

**_HE IS MINE,_** it howls in a crazed shriek. **_YOU WILL NOT HAVE HIM, HUMAN._**

_ Now,  _ Dean pushes back to Sam with everything he’s got. Then he looks up into the void, and grins.

“Fuck you.”

The Empty’s wordless scream is the last thing he hears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And I was catching my breath  
>  Floors of a cabin creaking under my step  
> And I couldn't be sure  
> I had a feeling so peculiar  
> This pain wouldn't be for  
> Evermore_


	5. peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Our coming-of-age has come and gone  
>  Suddenly the summer, it's clear  
> I never had the courage of my convictions  
> As long as danger is near  
> ...  
> Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?_

There is light, and there is something solid and warm in Dean’s arms.

That shouldn’t be enough to make him feel as calm as he does. But it is.

Then there’s a voice, loud and familiar, and the pressure of a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Turning his face towards the sound, he cracks his eyes open, squinting through his lashes against the glare.

“...ean, can you hear me? Dean? You’re okay, you made it. You did it.”

Dean blinks, the dark blob above him slowly coalescing into a face. “That’s right,” Sam says encouragingly, “c’mon, you’re okay. How d’you feel?”

“Like… like I got run over by a semi truck,” Dean groans, his whole body aching. Sam laughs, the bastard, and rubs Dean’s shoulder a couple times. 

“It should pass. The spell did say it might be a little rough, and with two people it was probably worse.”

Two. _Two_ people.

Dean looks down at the warm, solid thing he’s got his arms wrapped around, and makes a wrenched-out noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

Because the warm solid thing is Cas.

His eyes flutter open as Dean watches, blue, blue, blue, and Dean forgets about Sam, about the room, about everything else in the whole wide goddamn world.

Cas’ hands are wound into the front of Dean’s shirt. He looks like he’s fighting hope with everything he’s got. “Dean, is… is that…” he swallows, his voice absolutely wrecked. “Is it really you?”

Dean just leans forward, pressing his forehead against Cas’. Cas lets out a long, shuddery exhale and slumps closer, boneless with relief. 

“Yeah,” Dean whispers. “It’s really me.”

Then the hand settles back on Dean’s shoulder, and he jumps a little as he looks up to see Sam smiling down at them. He feels the tips of his ears heat.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam says, eyes a little misty. “It’s _really_ good to have you back, man.”

Cas lets go of Dean with one hand to reach out for Sam. “I… I am very glad to be back.”

Sam grins. “Let’s get you guys up.”

— - —

They refuse to let go of each other.

It makes it a little awkward, with Sam and Eileen helping them to their feet, but Dean never considers letting Cas slip out of his grasp for even a second. There’s a stupid little part of him that’s sure that if he lets Cas go he’ll disappear right in front of Dean’s eyes. Like he said, stupid. But he can’t shake it, so he holds on.

Cas, for his part, keeps looking at Dean like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like at any moment he expects Dean to step away and mutter something blatantly untrue about personal space or something. Or worse, for everything to dissolve and to find himself back in another loop. His grip on Dean’s shirt doesn’t loosen, and Dean wishes there was something he could do to reassure him that this is real. 

But Dean’s tired. He’s sore all over, he’s got the mother of all headaches, and he feels like he just ran a goddamn marathon. Cas, when questioned, admits that he feels just as bad, with the added delightfulness of having just had his Grace inexpertly drained. So after providing Sam (who ignored the six-hour rule by forty-five fuckin’ minutes, by the way, and Dean has half a mind to get angry at him about that later) and Eileen with the briefest possible explanation of what happened, Dean holds up a hand.

“Guys, can we get back to this later? I just wanna go to sleep.” He looks over. “Cas?”

Cas gives him a small, uncertain smile. “Yes. That… that sounds good. But…” he braces himself. “Chuck? And what about Jack? Where is he?”

Dean smiles. “Chuck’s human, Jack’s God. And killing it, by the way. He and Amara are sorting things out up in Heaven.”

“Oh,” Cas says, relaxing a little. “Alright, then. You can tell me more later.”

Sam grins and opens his mouth, probably to offer to help them get to their respective rooms, when Eileen grabs his arm. “They’ll be fine,” she says, smiling knowingly. “Won’t you, Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, suppressing a tired grin. “We’re good, Sammy. Not gonna pass out in the hall on you.”

“Alright,” Sam says, with only a little uncertainty. “If you say so. Text me when you wake up and we’ll get you guys some food.” He lets Eileen pull him out into the hallway, and after a moment, Dean tugs Cas along in their wake.

For all that they’re still pretty much wrapped around each other, Cas seems… quiet, as they trudge their way up to the wing with the bedrooms. Sam and Eileen went off on their own, so it’s an empty hallway they find themselves in when they come to a stop in front of Dean’s room.

Dean looks at Cas, and he realizes he has no idea how to say what he’s wanted to every single second since Cas got snatched away. While he’s still trying to figure that out, Cas speaks.

“Thank you, Dean,” he says softly. Dean just looks at him.

“What?”

Cas tilts his head, confusion bleeding into his expression. “For coming to get me.”

Dean blinks. “You— you say that like I wouldn’tve been miserable without you here.”

Cas doesn’t know how to respond to that. He just looks at Dean, and Dean looks back at him, and it’s… it’s _awkward._

Dean’s gaze falls to the red line across Cas’ throat, the blood smeared around it. He nods towards his room. “C’mon. Let me clean that up.”

It’s an excuse. A pretty flimsy one, at that, and they both know it. Cas walks into Dean’s room with him anyway.

They collapse onto the edge of Dean’s bed with no small amount of relief, and Dean pulls the first aid kit out of his bedside table and into his lap. He works efficiently, murmuring apologies when the first touch of the alcohol wipe makes Cas suck in a sharp breath. He finishes up with some antibiotic cream and leaves it like that; no bandage, at least not yet. It’s a clean cut. It probably won’t even scar.

He doesn’t move his hand from the side of Cas’ neck right away. He just… leaves it there for a minute, feeling the movement of Cas’ throat as he breathes, the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his pulse. Cas sits perfectly still, and lets him.

Finally, Dean forces himself to drop his hand. “I’m sorry.” When a line appears between Cas’ eyebrows, he offers an explanation. “Your Grace. I didn’t want to, but I don’t think I coulda gotten you out if you’d kept it.”

Cas shrugs, a tiny raise of his right shoulder. “I’m not. Sorry, that is. It is a sacrifice I am more than at peace with if it means I can be here.” He doesn’t say _with you,_ but he might as well have. His hands twitch where they’re folded in his lap. “I… thank you for cleaning my cut. I should let you rest.” 

He makes like he’s gonna get up to leave, and Dean’s hand snaps out to grab his wrist. Cas stops, eyes widening a little. He looks down, at where Dean’s fingers are locked around his wrist, and then looks back up at Dean.

Dean swallows. “Stay,” he says quietly.

Cas looks at him, searching his face. Then, slowly, he nods.

Dean lets go so he can shrug off his flannel and take off his boots. Cas sits beside him for a moment, unmoving, before starting to do the same. 

Coat. Suit jacket. Shoes. Tie.

Dean considers turning out the light while Cas puts his things on the desk chair and settles in on the opposite side of the bed, but ultimately decides against it. He… he doesn’t think he can deal with darkness for a while, yet. And he really doubts Cas can either.

But with that decision made, there’s nothing else to do but slide down under the covers and roll over to face Cas. Cas looks a little surprised, like he wasn’t expecting Dean to acknowledge he was there. Dean lets his eyes roam over Cas’ face, and not for the first time since he realized that somehow this crazy, stupid plan of theirs worked, he feels like he could cry from the sheer relief of having him back.

He reaches out under the covers, sliding his hand across the space between them. Cas sucks in a little breath when Dean’s fingers brush his.

Dean takes Cas’ hand and brings their linked fingers up in between them, inching just a little closer. Cas watches him, his lips parted ever so slightly. Dean can’t help but smile at the naked awe on his face.

“You know…” Dean says, like he’s a kid whispering secrets to his pillow. “You know you’re it for me. Right?”

Cas presses his lips together. “I… I couldn’t let myself hope. Dean, I wanted… I wanted to let you finish, in Purgatory. But the deal, it would’ve…”

Dean replaces the soothing sweep of his thumb across Cas’ knuckles with his lips, and Cas goes silent. When he meets Cas’ eyes again, they’re shiny.

“I know. I get it now,” he says, huddling a little closer. He needs there to be less space between them if he’s gonna do this.

“I fucked up, I’ll own that. I thought you didn’t feel it the same way I did, couldn’t, maybe. And then, I dunno,” he breaks off, shaking his head. “You said it to me in the dungeon, and I just... I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I... I wanna say it now, though. You deserve to hear it.” He takes a breath, the moment teetering between them.

“I love you, Cas.”

It’s devastatingly simple, and it’s the hardest thing Dean’s ever done. It’s the most relieved he’s ever felt, and it sends a spike of crippling terror through him the likes of which few other things ever have.

Cas disentangles his fingers from Dean’s and brushes them reverently over his cheek. Dean shivers.

Kissing Cas, he finds, is as easy as breathing.

— - —

Dean wakes up.

Even before he’s opened his eyes, he can tell that he’s slept better than he has in a long, long time. He’s warm, and he’s safe, and Cas’ chest rises and falls under his cheek as he breathes.

He’s… happy.

Moving slowly so he doesn’t wake Cas, he brings his hand up to peer at his watch. Four hours and change. Sam’ll still be up, then.

The hand resting in the middle of his back moves, rubbing in a lazy circle. Dean lifts his head and is greeted with a sleepy, muzzy smile. He smiles back. “Hey.”

“Hello,” Cas says, and Dean melts a little. What he wouldn’t give to have this forever.

Then he realizes. As long as Cas wants it, and as long as he doesn’t fuck it up…

He _can_ have this forever.

He has to bury his face in Cas’ neck for a second while the enormity of that sinks in. Cas just hums softly and wraps his other arm around Dean, their legs still tangled together.

He can feel the vibration of Cas’ vocal cords when he speaks. “How do you feel?”

Dean takes a second to catalogue his body. The soreness has mostly faded and the headache isn’t too bad anymore. Plus, he’s curled up in his bed with _Cas._

“Good,” he mumbles against Cas’ throat. “Really, really good.”

Cas doesn’t laugh, or even say anything in response. He just hugs Dean tighter.

They just lie like that for a while, listening to each other’s breathing. _He’s back,_ Dean says to himself. _He’s back, he’s back, he’s back._ And there’s shit he needs to sort through, things that aren’t suddenly better just because Cas is back. But they can wait their goddamn turn. For now, Dean is just going to enjoy this.

Then Cas shifts, and Dean tightens the arm he’s got thrown across his waist a little. “What is it?”

Cas’ fingers run over the small of Dean’s back. “In the Empty, you... you said I didn’t know what it was like the last time I died.”

Dean breathes. He doesn’t… he doesn’t wanna do this. Not right now. 

But not talking has always been their problem.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Because you don’t.”

Cas starts up the movement of his hand again. “Would you… would you tell me what this time was like?”

Dean stays where he is, his nose nudging the hollow of Cas’ throat. And, slowly, he starts to talk.

— - —

Eventually they get up and put their shoes on, taking turns brushing their teeth at the little sink against the wall in Dean’s room. Dean sits on the edge of his bed and texts Sam as Cas spits down the drain, getting confirmation that he and Eileen are still kicking around. The response comes back pretty quick, and Dean grins. Hell yeah, pizza.

He looks up to say as much to Cas, and is surprised by Cas leaning down to peck him on the mouth.

Cas winces when he pulls back, shuffling his feet. “Apologies, I… that was—”

“Not long enough,” Dean interrupts, flushing a little as he gets to his feet. Cas blinks. Then he smiles.

 _Minty fresh,_ Dean’s brain supplies deliriously as Cas’ hand slides into his hair. It’s a good thing he’s already texted Sam, honestly. Otherwise he’s not sure they’d actually make it out of the room.

Make it out of the room they do, though. Dean takes Cas’ hand as they walk down the hall, and Cas’s answering smile is like the sun breaking out from behind the clouds. Dean decides then and there that he wants to see that smile as much as is humanly possible from now on. Multiple times a day, if he can swing it. 

He keeps sneaking little looks at Cas as they walk, unable to keep his eyes off him for long. His sleeves are rolled up, the top few buttons of his shirt are undone, and even though he still looks tired as hell he’s _here._ He’s here, and he’s holding Dean’s hand, and he’s pretty much the best looking thing Dean’s ever seen.

They’re almost at the kitchen when Cas stops, pulling Dean to a halt. Dean frowns. “Hey. You good?”

Cas smiles. “Not that I’m not enjoying how demonstrative you’re being, but this is… uncharacteristic. Are you sure you are comfortable with this?”

He looks down at their joined hands and then nods towards the kitchen, raising his eyebrows. Oh. Dean shrugs. “Uh. I mean, _this,”_ he says, swinging their hands slightly, “this is fine. I can deal with this. I probably won’t… do anything else. _Yet,”_ he amends determinedly, drawing another one of those smiles out of Cas. “But, uh. I’m pretty sure Sam already knows. I said some stuff while— while you were gone, and he’s pretty smart. I can deal with holding your hand in front of him.” He rolls his eyes. “Hell, he’ll probably wanna throw us a party or something. Bet you ten dollars he gets that stupid kid-in-a-candy-store grin the minute we walk in there.”

Cas tilts his head, pretending to consider it. “I don’t have ten dollars of my own money.”

Dean spares a look towards the kitchen, making sure no Sasquatches are peeping on them. Then, the coast clear, he pulls Cas closer and grins. “How ‘bout a kiss, then?”

The corners of Cas’ eyes crinkle, and god. Dean is so in love with him.

“I’m amenable to that.”

“Good,” Dean says. “Then let’s get in there so you can lose, already.”

Cas just smiles. “I’m not sure ‘lose’ is the correct word. But I agree.”

He’s right, of course. Dean grins.

Although entering the kitchen turns out to be an exercise in barely controlled chaos. Because as soon as Cas and Dean step through the door, Jack launches himself tearfully into Cas’ arms and nearly bowls him over. Which, when the hell did _he_ get here, but whatever. From there, it takes no time at all for the five of them to be squashed together in one huge group hug just inside the kitchen door, with Miracle bounding around their legs and wagging his tail so hard it’s just a furry tan blur.

But as the ten-armed octopus hug breaks up and everyone starts to migrate towards the table, Dean realizes that everything happened so fast that he’s not even sure Sam saw them holding hands. He’s standing stock still in disbelief, trying to come to terms with the fact that he might’ve just lost what is easily the surest bet he’s ever made, when one of Sam’s huge mitts lands on his shoulder. He’s grinning that stupid grin, looking at Dean with friggin’ _puppy_ _eyes,_ and just kidding. Dean definitely won.

“I’m really happy for you guys,” he says quietly, looking like he’s about to burst at the seams. “You both deserve it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shut up.”

Sam just beams at him, and they follow the others to the kitchen table.

It’s loud, and it’s messy, and it’s perfect. Sam and Eileen keep sneaking kisses when they think no one’s looking, and Jack’s talking delightedly about sticking around here when he can, and Cas is sneaking Miracle pieces of pepperoni to try and make friends with him, and _this._

This is what they were fighting for. 

This is what saving the world looks like.

Under the table, Dean reaches out and takes Cas’ hand. He doesn’t even wanna _think_ about what his face is doing right now, because judging by the way Cas is looking at him in return, he’d never live it down. But if he’s being really honest, here… he’s pretty sure he actually couldn’t care less.

Because the things that matter? They’re right here in front of him, clustered around the table. 

Everything else’ll fall into place as long as he can hold onto _this._

You’ll see.


	6. cowboy like me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Now you hang from my lips  
>  Like the Gardens of Babylon  
> With your boots beneath my bed  
> Forever is the sweetest con_

_One year later_

Dean gets out of the Impala, shouldering his bag as he closes the door behind him. He stops for a minute, crouching down to look at the tires, and frowns a little as he runs his fingers over the treads. Yeah, he’d thought they were starting to get worn. He’s gonna have to get a new set soon.

That’s a problem for tomorrow, though. So Dean locks the car, shuts the garage door behind him, and heads up to the house.

“Hey, I’m back.”

Miracle trots up from the direction of the kitchen, tail wagging and tongue lolling out. Dean drops his bag next to the door and shrugs out of his coat, stifling the tendril of fear that starts to snake through him when there’s no reply. He gives Miracle’s ears a perfunctory ruffle and starts making his way through the house. 

Cas is fine. He’s probably just out in the garden.

Still, something hard and anxious in the pit of his stomach loosens when he reaches the back door and sees Cas in the backyard, kneeling next to the marigolds. He lets out a breath as he opens the door, Miracle going ahead of him and sticking his nose all up in the flowers Cas is pruning. Cas laughs a little and gives him a scratch as he turns to look up at Dean, smiling.

“Dean, you’re back early.” But his smile fades, his eyebrows drawing together as Dean takes a knee next to him. “What’s wrong?”

Dean’s shoulders slump a little. Dammit, Cas can always tell when he’s upset, no matter what he does. He shrugs as Cas pulls off his gardening gloves and puts them aside. 

“You— you weren’t in the house.” That’s what he says. What he means is _I went to work this morning even though I didn’t want to let you out of my sight._ And, _there’s a reason I didn’t stay until five o’clock._ And, _part of me was afraid you wouldn’t be here when I got back because it’s exactly a year today and the universe has a really fucked up sense of humour._

Cas grabs his hand. “I’m right here, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean still feels shaky and strange. Fuck, this is so _stupid._ Cas is right here, he’s _fine,_ Dean shouldn’t be—

He lets out a small “oof” as his back hits the grass. He blinks up at Cas, who’s now sprawled halfway on top of him and smiling softly. “Better?”

Dean lets out a huff of laughter, the weight of Cas’ body slowly dispelling the sick rush of his thoughts. “Yeah. Better.”

Cas hums, tracing the contours of Dean’s face with feather-light fingertips. “You know, I was looking at the bills earlier, and I decided to garden instead because I was seriously considering throwing the computer out the window. Are you sure you don’t want to switch back to credit card fraud? That was much less stressful.”

Dean laughs, absently running his hands up Cas’ sides. “Yeah, I’m sure. It’d be kinda rude not to use our social security numbers when Jack put so much work into all that stuff for us.” He shakes his head. “I still can’t believe he went the full nine yards and made you a birth certificate and everything.”

Cas grins wryly. “Yes, well. As sweet as that may be, I’m sure that if he had to deal with water and electricity bills he would understand.”

Dean smiles, slipping a hand around the back of Cas’ neck to pull him in for a kiss. “I’ll tackle the bills later, ‘kay?” he offers when they part. “Don’t want there to be any technological casualties.”

“My hero,” Cas deadpans. Then he smiles and kisses Dean again.

As nice as making out in the grass is, though, Dean knows for a _fact_ that their neighbour on the right can be a bit of a nosy bitch. And she’ll probably be home with her kids in the next little while. So, since he’s really not in the mood for a little accidental voyeurism today (or ever, _gross),_ inside it is. 

Cas gathers up the marigolds he’d pruned and brings them along, propping the flowers up in a tall glass with some water and putting it on the table. Usually he doesn’t cut his flowers; he gave Dean a lecture about how cutting them is just condemning them to a sad, ignominious death, and why can’t they just be enjoyed outside where they’ll live longer? (And yes, he really did use the word “ignominious”. Dean may have had to look it up afterwards.) But sometimes, when the plants get a little outta control, the victims of a pruning session’ll make it inside. During the spring and early summer, when they were still living at the Bunker, it’d been nice to have the bright colours livening up the kitchen.

Dean’s pretty sure that normal cut flowers don’t last as long as Cas’ seem to. He doesn’t think he’ll say anything, though. 

More things in heaven and earth, and all that.

There’s half a peach pie in the fridge, so Dean warms up a couple of slices and he and Cas eat them on the couch, curled up too close together and knocking elbows every time they move, Miracle sprawled out on the floor nearby. Cas tells him about his shift at the animal shelter this morning, Dean groans through a story about some asshole who showed up just before lunch demanding all kinds of crazy shit for his beat-up station wagon, and everything gets a lot better.

“Jack texted me,” Cas says, pausing to lick a stray piece of crust off his hand. “He’s enjoyed staying with Sam, but he misses us. He should be here in time for dinner tomorrow.” He makes a little face. “We’ll have to clear out his room again, I think we put some of the unpacked moving boxes in there.”

Dean hums happily. “That won’t take long. You got any ideas for what we wanna do with him this time? The county fair isn’t for another couple weeks, so that’s out.”

Cas tilts his head, thinking. “I’m not certain. We can look online for ideas later tonight.”

“Tonight?” Dean says cheekily, taking Cas’ empty plate and setting them both aside. “Oh, I don’t think so. We’re not wasting our Friday night _researching.”_

Cas raises an eyebrow as Dean leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth, lingering long enough that what would normally be a chaste peck is decidedly not. “I love the kid,” he says lowly, resting a hand on Cas’ thigh. “I love when he comes to stay. It’s great. But he’s literally two doors down from us. And unfortunately, this place doesn’t have foot-thick concrete walls.”

Cas runs a finger down the centre of Dean’s chest, lips twitching. “I see. I remember you saying something about making burgers tonight, though. So until those are done I think I’ll refrain from answering the question you’re tactfully not asking.”

Dean scoots closer, grinning. “You sure I can’t convince you?” 

Cas does an admirable job of pretending he doesn’t care while Dean worries at the line of his jaw, the soft patch of skin below his ear. The only thing that betrays him is the way his breathing sharpens, whistling past Dean’s ear.

“I’m sure,” he says, his voice a little rougher than usual. “Burgers. And then I’ll consider it.”

“Fine,” Dean says with an exaggerated sigh, sitting back and smiling at Cas. “Seriously, sometimes I think you only keep me around for my kickass cooking.”

But Cas doesn’t joke back. His expression goes soft, impossibly tender, and he brings up a hand to lie flat against Dean’s jaw. “No. You’re kind, and hardworking, and good. You make me laugh. You know exactly how I like my coffee and you always steal the last piece of dessert. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever encountered.” He smiles. “And I don’t presume to keep you. I know that you stay because you choose to.”

Dean swallows. Fuck, he is _not_ going to cry. “I was joking, y’know,” he says weakly.

Cas’ thumb smoothes across his cheek. “I know. I just felt like saying it.”

And Dean’s always been kinda shit with words. He doesn’t think, or he says the wrong thing, or it comes out differently than he meant it to. He’s no poet.

So he doesn’t try to speak. Instead, he lays his hands against the sides of Cas’ neck, his fingers cradling the curve of his skull. Cas’ eyes slip closed as Dean guides his head back, just enough to bare the long line of his throat.

Softly, Dean presses his lips to the almost invisible scar there. The one he only notices because he was the one who made it. Then he pulls Cas back down towards him and kisses him once on the mouth.

“I love you,” he says simply. 

“And I you,” Cas replies, low and reverent.

And they’re happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _We deserve a soft epilogue._
> 
> — - —
> 
> Well, there it is. This thing got so much bigger than I'd intended at first, and I couldn't have done it without all your incredible support, guys. I am definitely planning to continue this AU, I have so many ideas that need to get put into writing. There is so much softness these two could have had, and I fully intend to give it to them.
> 
> I hope this fixed things, a little. It definitely did for me. 
> 
> Love y'all,  
> Nepenthene


End file.
